O, I have Slipped the Surly Bonds of Earth
by Nemo the Everbeing
Summary: When Mycroft Holmes was eight years old he received a balloon ride for his birthday.


**Title**: O, I Have Slipped the Surly Bonds of Earth

**Author**: Nemo the Everbeing

**Rating**: G

**Disclaimer**: Owned by Doyle and the BBC.

oOo oOo oOo oOo

When Mycroft Holmes was eight years old he received a balloon ride for his birthday. It was the first and only time in his life he rode in a balloon, but it left a distinct impression. He'd never needed to repeat the experience. He'd learned what he needed from it the first time.

The balloon was massive. It was far larger than one expected from the pictures on television and in film. He had researched the dimensions and particulars of this particular balloon before making his choice, of course, but the raw data was changed when he saw red and white spread out on the ground and then inflated bit by bit, first by a fan that set the cloth rippling and rising like some Titan from a mythical sea, and then by the explosion of sound and heat from the burner that broke the balloon's bonds of gravity and raised the envelope into the air. Heat rises. A ball full of hot gas will rise through colder gas of the same composition. This made sense with enough hot air. The physics was sound. He quashed any fear he might have had of the sheer scale and the knowledge that little more than a few centimeters of wood would separate him from death.

He was embarrassed climbing into the basket, losing his balance and sagging gracelessly against the suede that padded the wicker rim. The crew of the balloon were encouraging in the way one would be to an eight-year-old boy. Such treatment had already begun to feel inappropriate.

The burner overhead fired again, even louder now that he stood under it. The condensation from the fire dripped down, splashing him between the eyes and then slowly, slowly rolling down his cheek.

Through the throat of the balloon he saw the whole device turned inside out. The lines to the crown stretched in a spider's reach, and a tug upon their lead had the balloon lurching toward the sky as hot air mixed with cold. The crew held fast.

And then they didn't. One by one they let the balloon go, until one man alone held Mycroft firm to the earth. And then he released his hold.

They did not leap into the sky as an aeroplane might, but instead drifted. First they were barely separated from the ground, and then it fell away by feet, the crew growing smaller. They were waving to the balloon with the energy and exuberance of a young, happy group of people. Mycroft didn't think he should wave back.

His parents stood near their car, watching and holding the baby. Sherlock had fussed through the entire event, removing Mummy from the equation. Father watched Mycroft, but he believed in allowing his son to explore his world to his own satisfaction, and even more in doing so for oneself. He had reiterated these beliefs in the car on the way to the balloon.

They too grew smaller until his eyes could no longer make out fine details. They grew smaller still, and their colors ran together. They grew small enough to be ants in their somber clothing, and the crew were aphids in green. And the entire world was made of insects.

Mycroft clutched the edge of the basket and leaned out. The pilot was explaining the workings of the balloon and Mycroft was responding in appropriate ways. He'd learned years before the trick of carrying on a conversation to everyone's satisfaction without paying the least attention.

There were patterns on the ground that he had never seen before, because they couldn't be seen when one stood upon them. One had to have an elevated view. One had to stand above the fray. High in the air there was an utter calm. The burner fell quiet, and the loudest sound was the whisper of the wind against the shell of Mycroft's ear. Even the pilot had fallen silent, respecting the moment for what it was.

Mycroft Holmes was eight years old when he first understood the reality of the bigger picture, and moreover the necessity. Someone had to stand above. Someone had to exist in the peace born of detachment from the earth. And at eight years old Mycroft was more than clever enough to know it would be him.


End file.
